This Side of Midnight
by tempestuous
Summary: Late nights can make people shed masks. Or can they, really? (slash)


**Disclaimer:** Don't own, not making money. Doing this for my own sick enjoyment, mmhmm. 

Rating: R, to be safe. 

**Spoilers:** Er, not really. 

**Author's Note:** This is another idea that came to me as I was trying to fall asleep...this is one of those annoying "ambiguous pairing" fics, but you'll probably be able to guess who I'm talking about anyway...or you might have just used the pairing search, in which case this won't be a surprise...right. There'll be another note at the end explaining myself. The setting is Hogwarts and the characters in question are sixth years, in case you wanted to know. 

**Feedback** will make me indescribably happy. :) 

**

This Side of Midnight

**

I turned the corner, and was barely surprised to see him there, silhouetted at the window. We never planned these meetings, but they happened like clockwork. Not that either of us would ever admit to wanting them, of course; to getting up out of bed in the middle of the night and braving the corridors with the single-minded intention of meeting the other. He didn't see me, so I took a few steps closer and spoke. 

"Don't you ever _sleep_?" 

"Don't you?" 

He hadn't jumped, hadn't skipped a beat. Nothing could surprise him, I felt, and I was always having to try and match that reaction, be just as unflappable. 

"Not much," I replied. I sidled up to him, leaning against the windowsill. He turned to face me, raising an eyebrow. 

"Your hair looks ridiculous," he said, pushing strands back from my face with fingers cold from resting on the cold stone walls. 

"Couldn't you be nice to me for once? I mean, after insulting me all day---" 

"If you think I'm the type to tell you that your eyes look like limpid pools, you're even more delusional than I thought..." 

He trailed off, winding the slightly chilly fingers into my hair, rubbing at my scalp and downwards toward my neck. I closed my eyes and craned my head back, leaning into the delicious touch. 

"Look at you, perfect picture of a happy housecat." His voice penetrated the darkness and fuzzy pleasure feelings that were swirling around my mind, and my eyes flickered open to catch a glimpse of the amusement on his face as his now-warmed fingers caught gently under my chin, pulling me up towards his mouth. 

We kissed, not angry and deep, or nose-bumping and bashful, but warm, sleepy. Tongues and lips playing lazily, an accustomed-to-each-other kiss. I took a step closer, winding my arm around his back and tracing the shape of his vertebrae, pulling our bodies flush against each other. His grip on my shoulder tightened, and he nudged his hips forward into mine. I broke the kiss and stepped back to lean against the wall, pulling him to stand in front of me and looking at him with half-closed eyes. 

" 'M tired of hating you all day," I said, brushing stray hair off of _his_ face this time. 

"Well then perhaps you needn't be so bloody _zealous_ about it, then? That hex you fired this afternoon came dangerously close to--" 

"Oh, can it for a second, would you? I wasn't aiming for you in the first place, and you know you can deflect anything I can cast." 

"Yes, but what if I hadn't been paying attention?" 

"You're always paying attention." 

"Well yes, you make yourself enough of a nuisance that it becomes difficult not---" I braced my hand behind his neck and kissed him, ignoring the indignant squawk that found its way into my mouth at first. All of his indignance had soon faded as his hands fisted in my robes and one of his thighs found its way between mine, our tongues moving in silent, harsh sentences against each other. 

We broke apart, panting. "You're always paying attention," I repeated, voice husky, "because you love watching me, just like I love watching you." I ran one finger firmly over the warm hardness of his cock through his robes, looking up at him as he bit his lip, eyes widening. I replaced the finger with my whole hand, rubbing him steadily and keeping my eyes locked with his. His hand unclenched from the sleeve of my robes and wedged itself between our bodies, giving me a rough squeeze, and then gripping and rubbing as best he could through the layers of clothing. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back as we worked off each other's rhythm, hands and breaths moving faster and faster. I arched my back off the stone wall, hips jerking forward and smacking our knuckles together. He moaned, and his hand stilled, other hand moving reluctantly off my shoulder to catch mine. 

"We should stop," he said, dropping his arms to his sides. His eyes were closed, and I could see the network of capillaries traced over them, a faint purple like eyeshadow. I moved my hand to rest on his hip. 

"You really don't sleep much, do you?" I asked, suddenly concerned that someone as young as me should look as weary as he did in this moment. His eyes snapped open. 

"No," he said, simply. "I don't." His tone invited no further questions, no concern, no pity. He detached himself from me, eyes downcast. "It has to be well past one, I'm going to bed," he said, voice brusque as he pulled his robes straight. 

"To not sleep?" 

"Most probably." 

"Well...goodnight then, I suppose." He nodded curtly and turned to leave. Something about the slump of his shoulders made me call after him. 

"Snape--wait a second." 

He turned to me, I thought I saw a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. He was right. I was delusional. 

"I--I'm really more of dog person." 

His eyes re-shuttered themselves, and he gave me his best incredulous expression. "Right. I'll remember that. Goodnight, Black." 

He turned to leave, and so did I. 

Nighttime was a different world for us, but I supposed there were some things it was just too late to change. 

________________________

**Author's Note:** Ooh, Snape/Black, how illogical, right?? I'd just like to point out that I know exactly how this could be placed in a nice plot arc to make it all make sense...see, there could be a prequel that laboriously details how they end up in this kind of relationship, this is the middle "as good as it gets" kind of installment, and then the last piece would be the heartbreaking tale of the shrieking shack incident, etc. Hell, there could even be an epilogue in which they reconcile during Harry's 5th year. See, I _could_ make this make sense. I'm just too lazy. 


End file.
